Wonderment S1E2 - The Dungeon

A fluttering sound. Wings? Fabric? Then light pierced his shut eyelids. Then a firm kick between his shoulders. Wonderment staggered forward, blind and off-balance, into a grimy cell with a thin layer of straw scattered over rough stones. He groaned and collapsed into a corner. Rafferty grunted, falling to his knees. The wrought iron door clanged shut, and metallic footfalls disappeared along the adjoining hallway. A thin crimson trickle slipped from Wonderment’s nose and snaked down his cheek before dripping to the floor. Rafferty coughed and rolled onto his back. He stretched, and a grimace cut across his face.

“They’ve given you the royal treatment, I see,” said a wavering voice. Wonderment and Rafferty turned their necks, still stiff from many miles draped over a horse’s backside like laundry. A frail man in his mid-fifties, wearing stained rags, stood in the far corner. Though shaggy and disheveled, he held his shoulders back, chin lifted despite the filth.

“You might say that,” Rafferty grumbled. Wonderment just lay back, staring at the ceiling. He moaned.

“Wonderment,” Rafferty coughed, “I never had a chance to thank you properly.”

“Don’t mention it,” Wonderment replied.

“No, I’m serious, lad,” Rafferty said, “I can’t imagine whiling away my days, trapped in someone else’s body, following such a mundane script.”

“Bleak indeed,” the man in the corner interjected.

“Who are you anyway?” Wonderment asked, not bothering to face the man.

“Who am I?” The man mused. “You must be from away. You address the king... well, the true king.”

“Don’t look like much of a king to me,” Rafferty said. Then, glancing again at the man’s demeanor, “Sorry, your highness, we are from away.”

“What’s going to happen to us?”

“Well, they haven’t killed you yet,” the man answered. “You have been imprisoned, which, all things considered, is lucky. Besides, the semiotics of imprisonment are fascinating, don’t you think? Bars as a metaphor…”

“Great,” Wonderment muttered, “very interesting indeed.”

“Not great,” said Rafferty gravely.

The true king continued, “They’ll probably haul you in front of the imposter king for a quick judgment, then they’ll torture and kill you.”

“Excellent!” Wonderment cried.

“Why are you here?” Rafferty asked the man after a spell.

“I told you, I’m the king,” the man answered.

“Yes, but why are you in the dungeon?” Rafferty asked.

“Dungeon, why, I thought this was the throne room,” the man replied with a cackle. Wonderment turned to him, eyes half-lidded, jaw tight.

The man seemed to realize that they weren’t in the mood for sarcasm or ambiguity. He continued, “I was the king until this imposter showed up. I don’t know where he came from, but he showed the peasantry a bit of magic, and suddenly I’m being deposed.”

He cleared his throat, “You know how peasants are. Temperamental, suggestible, armed.”

“Filthy peasants,” Rafferty agreed.

“He showed them magic?” Wonderment asked, curious.

“Something to do with making people’s hair stand on end, or controlled lightning, or something,” the deposed king explained. “I don’t know. I didn’t see it. But he did something in the town square, and then out of nowhere, they’re all brandishing torches and banging on the castle doors.”

“Interesting,” said Wonderment. He pushed himself into a seated position.

“Rafferty, what are we going to do?” Wonderment asked. “I don’t really want to sit around and wait to be executed.”

“You’re right,” Rafferty answered, “Waiting doesn’t strike me as optimal.”

“You could escape,” the deposed king offered.

“That would be best,” Rafferty agreed. He stood and walked to the wrought-iron door blocking their exit. Gripping the bars, he attempted to pull them sideways, but only half-heartedly. There was no give. The door didn’t even rattle.

“Oh, don’t be daft,” the deposed king said. “That guard down the hall. He’s basically a human cow. Just get the key from him.”

“If it’s so easy, why haven’t you done that?” Rafferty asked.

“He’s been instructed not to speak to me,” the deposed king replied, “and though it’s pretty difficult for him, he seems to understand that much.”

“Just call him over and see for yourself,” he continued, “his name is Hob.”

“Oy! Hob!” Rafferty shouted. “Get over here!”

Clanking at the other end of the hall, then a heavy stomping sound, came in reply. A massive man with a thick gut approached. He wore an ill-fitting tunic with numerous leather straps. His movements were exaggerated, and he marched like a child imitating a cartoon soldier, his arms swinging.

“Hi there, Hob,” Wonderment said pleasantly, still sitting on the floor.

“How do you do?” Hob asked.

“I’m only okay,” Wonderment replied, “a bit stiff.”

Hob laughed. “I know about being sore,” he answered, “I stand up all day guarding the door!”

“And a fine guard you are!” Wonderment said. Hob blushed deeply and giggled a bit.

“Can you let us out?” The deposed king asked.

“I am not to talk to you,” Hob said with a frown. “No talking to the king!” He boomed.

“But you can talk to us?” Rafferty asked.

“I didn’t receive no order about conversating with the not-kings.” Hob answered, beaming, “so I can talks to you.”

Rafferty moved closer to Hob, so he was standing next to the man, just on the other side of the bars. Hob looked at him, deeply confused. Rafferty shot a warm smile at Hob, and Hob giggled again.

“Are you going to feed us?” Wonderment asked.

“It ain’t feedin’ time,” Hob answered. He shuffled his feet in place and looked glumly at the floor, almost regretfully.

“I know,” Wonderment continued, “it’s okay. I’m just curious. When it’s feeding time, what will you bring for us?”

Hob smiled again. “When it’s feedin’ time, I usually bring some milk and some bread.”

“It’s not very good,” he admitted, “and I steals it if I’m hungry.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t steal our bread, would you?” Wonderment asked in a voice that sounded as though it were directed at a child.

“I don’t think I’ll steal it this time,” Hob answered. “You are nice. Seein’ as you said I’m a good guard and all.”

Rafferty’s hand shot out and snatched a key that had been tucked carelessly in a pocket of one of Hob’s many leather straps.

“Hey!” Hob roared, “That’s mine!”

“Whoa now!” Wonderment said, motioning for Hob to be calm. “Let me handle this mix-up.”

Wonderment turned to Rafferty, “Sir! That was very mean of you. Please apologize to this nice young man at once!”

Rafferty looked quizzically at Wonderment, but then turned to Hob and muttered, “I apologize, Sir Hob.” Rafferty looked at the ground and twisted the tip of his boot against the tiles.

“That was very mean,” Hob agreed, then looked back at Wonderment.

“Now, gentlemen,” Wonderment continued, “we find ourselves in a difficult situation.”

“Give it back,” Hob bellowed.

“Just a minute,” Wonderment said, raising his hands. “Sir Hob, as the presiding authority, you must make sure this dispute is resolved in the appropriate legal manner.”

“But it’s mine,” Hob whined.

“What Sir Hob says is true,” Wonderment began, “but we must also consider the law of finders keepers.”

He turned to Hob, “Surely you’ve heard of this important law?”

Hob nodded glumly.

“So, we have here a case where, by right, the key belongs to Sir Hob,” Wonderment explained, “though through malicious and questionable acts, the key has come into the possession of Sir Rafferty.”

Rafferty watched Wonderment with a faint unease, sensing this was less an escape attempt than a demonstration. Then he answered, “Fine, I agree.”

The deposed king chimed in, “as do I.”

Wonderment turned to Hob. “Do you agree with my assessment?” He asked.

Hob scratched his chin stubble, then answered, “Fine. I agree.”

“So,” Wonderment boomed, more confidently, “Sir Hob has been wronged. But two wrongs do not make a right. And so simply stealing the key back from Rafferty would be a double negative and therefore a crime.”

“My conclusion, then, is that Rafferty must return the key,” Wonderment said.

“Yeah, give it here!” Hob shouted.

“Not so fast, my friend,” Wonderment addressed Hob, “to avoid doing anything illegal, we must convince Sir Rafferty to return the key of his own free will.”

“Isn’t that right?” Wonderment asked the deposed king.

“That’s right,” he responded, “to be legal, of course.”

Then Wonderment’s stomach growled, and he rubbed his belly.

“Then the question, my friends, is what can we give Rafferty that will inspire him to return the key freely, to its just owner, Sir Hob?” Wonderment asked.

“Sir Rafferty, I ask of you, what might inspire you to return the key?” Wonderment asked.

“I am a bit peckish,” Rafferty answered, mimicking Wonderment’s belly-rubbing motion.

“What if, perchance, Sir Hob here were to supply you with milk and bread?” Wonderment asked. “Might that inspire you to return his key?”

“It might indeed,” Rafferty answered.

Wonderment paused for a moment, contemplating how far he could push. Rafferty spied an ominous glint in Wonderment’s eyes. He was enjoying himself. Too much.

“Then, gentlemen, I believe we have found a just and fully legal solution,” Wonderment boomed. “Sir Hob will fetch the milk and bread, a bit earlier than usual. Upon delivery, Sir Rafferty shall return the key with all due haste.”

“Do we have an accord?” Wonderment asked.

“Indeed,” the deposed king offered.

“Ey,” said Rafferty.

Hob nodded uncomfortably and said, “Okay.”

The three behind bars looked expectantly at Hob. It took the man several moments, but then he realized what was happening.

“I’ll get the bread!” He shouted and turned to go.

“And the milk,” Rafferty reminded as Hob marched away.

Alone again, Wonderment smiled at Rafferty.

“Well done,” the deposed king said, “You’d make a fine ruler. You have a knack for courtly affairs.”

“Sometimes I worry about you,” Rafferty said distantly as he unlocked the door and slipped out. Wonderment, aching, followed. The deposed king stayed where he sat.

“Are you coming?” Wonderment asked.

“No,” replied the man, with a certain weariness clouding his face, “I’d be easily recognized. Your chance of escaping is better on your own. Besides, if Hob comes back, I can try to convince him you were never here.”

Though the man’s expression hinted that he might be hoping Wonderment would convince him to accompany them, Wonderment and Rafferty just shrugged and walked out. Hob had left the door at the end of the hall open behind him, and they could hear him moving about in the room on the other side. It sounded as though he were running a kitchen for a banquet hall alone during a siege.

“What’s the play?” Rafferty whispered.

“The way out must be through there,” Wonderment answered. “We’ll try to play it nice, but be ready for things to get dicey fast.”

Rafferty signaled his agreement, and together they walked through the door. They found themselves in a minimally furnished space with a set of stone stairs at its opposite end. Hob was standing next to a sturdy wooden table. In one hand, he held a massive knife, and was attempting to slice a hunk of brown bread. The blade must have been dull, or his technique exceptionally flawed, because he had badly smushed the loaf.

“Sir Hob,” Wonderment called, “we have come to return your key!”

Hob wheeled around, eyes wide. His mouth started to move as though it might propel his thoughts forward. Wonderment got there first, “Rafferty, produce the key!”

“Here it is,” called Rafferty, who held the key up to the light between his index finger and thumb. He rolled the key around his fingers and then handed it to Hob with a flourish. Hob stared down at the key in his palm. A slack-jawed smile spread across his face. It lasted only a moment before a frown replaced it.

“You’re s‘posed to be in the cage,” Hob explained to them. He realized he was holding the knife and began to wave it awkwardly.

“You are mistaken, my friend,” said Wonderment, “the cage is for prisoners!”

“And you’s are prisoners,” roared Hob, but he paused his knife-waving, as though eager for Wonderment’s reply.

“Well, let’s just see about that,” replied Wonderment. “You would agree that prisoners are supposed to be in the cage, yes?”

“Yes,” said Hob.

“And you would also agree that we are not in the cage?” Wonderment continued.

“Yeah,” sputtered Hob.

“Then you must understand that we are not prisoners,” Wonderment tried.

“I don’t like your words,” Hob said, wounded.

“Wonderment,” Rafferty said uneasily, sensing that they were losing their control over the situation.

Hob’s grin curdled into something devious, and he lifted the point of the knife toward Wonderment’s throat. He spoke confidently, as though he had just figured out the meaning of a joke, “Then I put you back in the cage, and you’ll be my prisoners.”

Just then, a rasping voice drifted down the stairway like thick smoke. “Hob,” the voice coiled, “you buffoon, get up here at once, you must haul bathwater for the king.”

“Master,” Hob called back, “the prisoners are here. I must keep them in their cages.”

“Fool,” the voice crackled, “the prisoners will take care of themselves, and you must haul the water. Unless you want to be punished.”

“Uh… no… no!” Hob called back, his voice shaking. He dropped the knife and ran up the stairs at full speed, leaving Wonderment and Rafferty alone.

“Well,” Rafferty said, “what now?”

“We could try to escape, I suppose,” Wonderment thought aloud, “or maybe we capture the king and take over the castle.”

“Escape then,” Rafferty replied, “that other option is insane.”

“Is it?” Wonderment asked after a moment. “I’m not so sure.” He continued, “We’ve been mysteriously transported to a medieval fantasy land with no sense of direction or purpose.”

“That doesn’t mean we need to storm a castle,” Rafferty said.

“What do you propose?” Wonderment asked. “We flee into the countryside and become shepherds?”

Rafferty didn’t reply. Wonderment’s comment stung, but he wasn’t given long to think. Wonderment continued, “Besides, I’m not suggesting we storm the castle. I’m thinking we just sneak around a bit, learn what’s what, and if the opportunity arises, we kill the king and steal his crown.”

“I suppose we can do that,” Rafferty answered. “But can we at least find some weapons or something? I feel like we’re just asking for trouble.”

“Or a disguise,” Wonderment said enthusiastically.

They left the dungeon by the same stairs Hob had taken, and climbed the torch-lit steps until they reached a terrace with sturdy wooden doors on either side. Behind one of the doors, a sound like someone smacking a wall with a broom emanated. From above, they could hear Hob yammering and grunting. So, they took the final door, which opened into a hallway. A blue carpet stretched along its length, and its walls were painted red. Ornate candelabra stood at regular intervals, their flames illuminating the space. Paintings of important-looking people in resplendent garments adorned the walls. Wonderment and Rafferty, in their rags, crept along this hallway, listening intently for anyone approaching. They occasionally passed doorless passages through which they observed a variety of rooms. First, a banquet hall with a huge mural depicting heaven and its angels on the ceiling. Then a space that appeared to be a laboratory. An acrid odor wafted from its interior, and they passed quickly.

“Shh,” Rafferty hissed as they approached another passage. Peeking around its corner, they spied another curved stair. The ascent was guarded by a knight in black armor. This hulking giant held a torch in one hand and an unsheathed sword in the other, as though it were on high alert and ready for a fight. Then a clanking sound came from farther down the same stairs.

“Who goes there?” An eerie voice erupted from the knight.

A second eerie voice replied, “Who goes there?” At the same time, a second knight holding an identical torch and sword reached the level where the first knight stood.

“A knight of the realm and a faithful servant of the king,” they both answered at almost the same time, but out of sync, so that their statements blended into an incoherent soup. They moved with the jerky precision of a budget animatronic display, obedience rendered mechanically.

“I have come to relieve you,” the ascending knight said just as the other was saying, “It is time for me to be relieved.”

The two knights then attempted to pass each other several times with direct collisions rather than success. At last, they were both able to pass each other by turning sideways. One began descending, while the other began to climb.

“Come on,” Wonderment whispered to Rafferty. “I bet he’s going to the barracks. We’ll get those weapons you wanted.”

Rafferty’s eyes gleamed, and he followed Wonderment around the lip of the door then down the stairs. The clanging of the knight’s boots against the stone had a regular cadence, and it allowed them to judge their distance, though the curve in the stairs obstructed their view. Somewhere below a door opened and slammed shut. Wonderment and Rafferty found the door and pressed their ears against it – listening. No sound came from the other side, and the two waited in silence. After a full minute, Rafferty gently opened the door. Wonderment’s heart kicked hard against his ribs. There before them, in the darkened and cavernous space, were row upon row of black knights. There must have been two hundred uniform soldiers standing in perfect, countable lines. Though Wonderment expected imminent death, this was not delivered. Upon further inspection, it became clear that each of these suits of armor was lacking its helmet, which had been removed and now rested on the hilt of its sword. The sword was held by the blade, with its tip against the ground directly in front of its boots.

A sound from the other end of the room caught their attention. The knight that they’d followed in had assumed a position at the end of a row and was removing its helmet. As the helm was lowered, Wonderment and Rafferty glimpsed what appeared to be a head made entirely from shadow. Its darkness stood as a silhouette against the wall behind, began to slowly evaporate in long, smoky tendrils lofted on an unseen breeze. As this happened, the position of the body relaxed into a position that matched the others.

“What exactly are we up against?” Rafferty whispered.

“Magic? Technology? Some grotesque hybrid no medieval mind can name?” Wonderment shrugged. He couldn’t quite articulate his growing suspicion that they were up against something huge and systemic. “Come on.”

Hundreds of knights stood before them, like a terracotta army. Wonderment walked along one of the rows. It reminded him of a cornfield. He reached out and stroked the chest plate of one armor set. Cold and smooth. Then came a terrific clang from behind. Wonderment spun on his heel, expecting to see an enemy threatening. Instead, he found Rafferty doubled over and trying to contain his laughter. Rafferty had pried loose the sword and helmet from one of the husks. He held these objects in either hand. The suit of armor had then fallen forward, waist first, still standing, into the back of the suit of armor in front.

“I wonder…,” said Rafferty. He handed the sword to Wonderment and slipped the helmet over his head. The sword was heavier than he anticipated, and he almost dropped it.

“Whoa,” Rafferty called, “you’ve gotta try this!”

Rafferty walked in circles with his hands outstretched in front of him. The helmet rested effortlessly on his head and appeared absurdly too large for his body. Wonderment plucked a second helmet from a nearby suit of armor and slid it on. At first, he could see nothing, and he started to panic, a sudden claustrophobia gripping him. A red spark flitted into existence. Then another. A flickering. It flicked on, revealing the room in crimson relief, as though seeing through stained glass that moved with his gaze. Wonderment gasped and cried, “What is going on?” The display seemed high-tech, violently out-of-step with his surroundings.

“I don’t know,” replied Rafferty, “but I’m gonna try on some of this armor.”

Rafferty, with more haste than grace, thrust his legs into a pair of greaves. He struggled to don the cuirass and gauntlets. After a time, his outfit was complete. Rafferty clanked proudly across the room. “It’s light,” he called, “but not exactly comfortable.”

Wonderment couldn’t help but laugh. Rafferty’s proportions were much different than the armor’s original host, and the cuirass sank low, down over his hips and thighs. The gauntlets came too far up the arm. It made Rafferty appear like a dwarf with forearms sprouting from his shoulders. Wonderment was amazed that he could move at all.

“Can you even swing the sword?” Wonderment asked. Rafferty, eager to test his new disguise, swung the sword one-handed in a broad arc. The motion caused his torso to twist, but nevertheless produced a satisfying whoosh. Wonderment decided to put on the armor as well. It fit him; however, he could tell that the cuirass sank lower than it should. The armor’s lightness and freedom of movement amazed him. Glancing again at Rafferty, he couldn’t imagine that they would pass for guards. They were far too short, and their arms looked wrong.

“I say we find the king,” Rafferty volunteered, “I’d like to know exactly what’s going on, and why there’s mechanized armor in a medieval kingdom.”

“Alright,” answered Wonderment, pleased that Rafferty was beginning to see things his way, “I’m feeling emboldened.” He swung his own sword in front of him. Its weight was reduced by the armor, which somehow increased his strength. They returned to the stairway and began their ascent. It wasn’t long before they reached another armored knight. Given their attire, stealth was out of the question anyway, and they rounded a corner in the stair, coming upon the knight, before they had time to establish a strategy. The other knight moved to face them but said nothing. Wonderment and Rafferty stopped walking. Even in their own armor, it towered over them. Without warning, it passed them and headed down the stairs, as though on a fixed timer. Wonderment and Rafferty continued to climb.

The stairs led them to a large, open room. A wooden throne was positioned along the far wall, and long cloth tapestries hung from the rafters. Wonderment noticed the same boar’s head insignia on these tapestries. A spark of recognition flickered – then nothing. On either end of the room sat two large hearths, though only the smoldering remains of logs were present. Rafferty pointed out a heavy wood door behind the throne and suggested they explore further. The two clanked forward in their misshapen armor. Their gauntlets were far too large to be useful for anything other than swinging a sword or holding a torch, and so the ornate doorknob that confronted them proved a steadfast rival. Wonderment’s gauntlet obscured his view, and so he was never quite sure when his hand was in the right place. He couldn’t feel anything or be sure he was even making contact.

Rafferty began to coach him.

“Five centimeters to the left,” Rafferty advised, “forward now, slowly.”

Wonderment grumbled.

“No! Not that far!” Rafferty spit.

“Okay, now close your fingers, slowly,” He instructed. Wonderment tried.

“Damn, your fingers are longer than I expected. Pull back a few centimeters.” Wonderment did. Finally, Rafferty was able to coax out an idea position.

“Rotate, rotate!” Rafferty hissed urgently. At last, the door swung open, and they were met by singing and a cloud of steam. They stepped into a brightly lit and ornately decorated bedchamber. There was a four-poster bed, multiple candelabras, a heavy desk covered in scrolls, atop which several dishes of fruit had been laid. On the ground, a heavy rug of some unidentifiable but very large hide lay. Next to the carpet was a wooden tub that produced copious steam clouds. Inside the tub, a man was singing loudly. He noticed their footsteps and opened his eyes.

“Oh, good! Did you bring the roast duck?” The man demanded. Neither Wonderment nor Rafferty replied.

“Come closer, come closer,” the man ordered. Wonderment and Rafferty chose to obey. As they both drew near, they were astounded. Soaking in the tub, scrubbing his back with a long-handled brush, sat Charles. Neither Wonderment nor Rafferty knew exactly how to react. Charles stood, stepped out of the bath, and looked at his two visitors.

“Why are you so…” he paused, “short?”

“It’s me,” Wonderment said. He removed his helmet. Rafferty did the same.

Charles’s expression flashed between confusion, recognition, mild embarrassment, and then relief.

“What…” Charles gasped, “How did you… How did you get here?”

“I just landed here,” Wonderment replied.

Rafferty grumbled his reply, “It’s a long story. Far too many sheep.”

“Sheep?” Charles asked.

“Oh, never mind,” he continued. He spread his arms wide as if to embrace Wonderment and Rafferty, who still wore their armor.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” Charles cried. He spun in a circle, sending water droplets flying.

“They made me king!” Charles smiled in a way that suggested kingship was less a burden than a convenience. “Can you believe it?”

“We surmised,” answered Rafferty, “but it’s still not entirely clear what’s going on.”

“Indeed,” replied Charles, “ but being king is great! I have my own treasure room!”

“Nice,” replied Wonderment with disinterest.

“It’s more than nice,” Charles roared, “They give me fine robes. I can have a feast whenever I want. And you wouldn’t believe the…”

“Charles,” Wonderment snapped. A slightly wilted expression flashed across Charles’s face.

“Anyways,” Wonderment continued, “we just escaped your dungeon.”

“Right,” Charles said mildly, “my advisor mentioned something about some blasphemers who were captured and should be tortured.”

Then Charles asked, “Why have you been blaspheming?”

“Blaspheming?” Asked Rafferty.

“Look, Charles,” Wonderment cut in. “Enough. We need to figure out what we’re going to do next. Apparently, you’re the king, and apparently, we’re your prisoners. We need to find a way back... ehem... out of medieval times.”

“Hmmm,” replied Charles, “yes, that makes sense.”

“Have you learned anything about the author?” Wonderment asked.

“Oh, yeah, that guy…” Charles trailed off.

“My advisor mentioned something about an author, a king, actually,” Charles said. He had walked over to the table and was devouring an apple.

“What else did he say?” Wonderment asked.

“I really can’t remember,” Charles answered without much care, as though referring to a misplaced shipment. “This whole king business is rather tiring. Lots of peasant affairs to deal with. Many banquets to attend. Treasure to hoard.”

“You can’t remember?” Wonderment sounded disgusted.

“No,” Charles confirmed, “I’ll need to ask my advisor tomorrow.”

“Speaking of which,” Charles continued, “I believe your hearing is scheduled for tomorrow. Is that right?”

“Well, yeah, but we escaped,” Wonderment said.

“Allow me to pontificate, for a moment, if you’d be so kind?” Charles asked. Wonderment gestured for him to continue.

“By all means.”

“Being king is challenging,” Charles began. “The treasure is nice, of course, but it really is quite a delicate situation. They deposed the last king because I knew basic physics.”

“So?” Asked Rafferty.

“So, it would be just as easy for them to get fed up with me and end my reign,” Charles explained.

“Now as I see it,” Charles continued, “we either flee the castle tonight, heading God knows where, or we build upon the foothold I’ve established here.”

He gestured at the room, “and we live in comfort until we can figure out what to do next.”

Wonderment grimaced. He sensed that he was losing control of the conversation’s direction, and he hated that feeling.

“I suggest, unless anyone has a better idea,” Charles continued, “that you both return to your cell. I’ll pardon you at your trial tomorrow, and you’ll join my court. You’ll have access to food and comfort whilst we come up with a sensible plan.”

“Whilst?” Asked Rafferty.

“Oh yes, I’ve started saying that,” Charles responded in an ebullient tone. “Very kingly, I think!”

“Sure,” muttered Rafferty, rolling his eyes.

“Right!” Charles continued, “So you march back to your cell, I continue my bath, and on the morrow, we restore you to your rightful station. Then we can ask my advisor more about this author and luxuriate in the finer things of the century.”

Wonderment clenched his teeth. The logic was sound, infuriatingly so, but acquiescing to Charles felt like swallowing glass.

“I don’t know,” Rafferty groaned. “I don’t like it.”

The sound of several knights marching past echoed into the room from the adjoining hall.

“What’s the alternative, chaps?” Charles asked, glancing nervously toward the door.

“Come now,” he said, “one more night on the cold stones and then you’ll be elevated to society’s peak, with all the time we need for strategizing, perusing my treasure room, and generally figuring out what to do.”

Wonderment’s shoulders sagged. “Fine,” he said. “Back to the dungeon.” They had no plan, no real chance of escape, and those shadow knights… “Back to the dungeon.”

“Goodbye, dear friends,” Charles called. He turned and slipped back into the bath.

Once more, Rafferty and Wonderment descended the spiraling stone stairs toward the dungeon. Neither spoke. Their return tasted like defeat, but defeat, Wonderment knew, was often just a position.

“Did something seem off,” Wonderment asked, “about Charles?”

“When is something not off with Charles?” Rafferty replied.

“I know. He just seemed a little too pleased by this whole situation.”

They entered the room just above the dungeon corridor and slipped out of their armor. Rafferty didn’t want to let go of the sword. He clutched its handle, even as Wonderment was leaving the room, like a stuffed animal from his early childhood. With a heavy sigh, he set it down next to the discarded helmets. As they walked down the final set of stairs, no longer bothering with stealth, they heard voices. Hob had returned, and he was conversing with the deposed king.

The deposed king was saying, “You see, my friend, sometimes our senses mislead us, and we mistake our imaginings for reality.”

“No,” boomed Hob, “I’m telling you. There were three of you here, and now there is only one.”

“You’re mistaken,” the deposed king tried again, “besides, are you aware that numbers are an abstraction? They are not material in the way that these bars or that stool are real. They are just tools our minds use to make sense of plurality. And, my dear friend, our minds are fallible!”

“Abstraction?” Hob asked in long syllables.

“You mean there aren’t three?” He asked. “Just one.”

“Precisely,” the deposed king answered. “You are a sharp one, Hob! Just one prisoner, and that’s if we can even trust numbers. Stupid, malleable things if you ask me.”

Wonderment and Rafferty walked in.

“Excellent timing, fellows,” the deposed king said sarcastically.

Hob flew into a fit of rage. He grabbed the wooden stool he had been sitting on and flung it against the stone wall. Then a wooden bucket shattered against the cage bars. With a roar, he threw Wonderment and Rafferty into the cell and locked the door. Then he stormed out of the room, yelling, “No Milk! No bread!” The three prisoners sat in silence, listening to his footsteps fade. Wonderment and Rafferty questioned their voluntary return to captivity while the deposed king pondered the symbolic implication of reunification, captivity, and perhaps milk.